


The New Kid

by SuburbanSun



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bus-Era, F/M, Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine, Gen, Jemma's POV, Monkeys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3324872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then there were three. Fitz, Jemma, and a tiny little capuchin monkey named Aristotle. Who was currently peeing on the Bus’ ramp.</p><p>"Oh," Jemma thought to herself. "This will end well."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The New Kid

**Author's Note:**

> Written for fltzsummons on Tumblr for the Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine exchange! Her prompt was (though I tweaked it a tiny bit): "Jemma stepped out of the Bus hoping to escape the commotion-- and the pile of broken beakers-- that lay inside."
> 
> Takes place roughly in the middle of season 1, pre-Hydra reveal, but the timeline is pretty loose and I don’t expect it to slot neatly into canon. I should also note that my monkey knowledge is limited, but no animals were harmed in the writing of this fic.

**Monday**  
**2:58 p.m.**  
**El Tuparro National Park, Colombia**

“His name is Aristotle. Can I keep him?”

Coulson’s blank gaze shifted from Fitz to Jemma. “Is he talking about the monkey?”

Jemma nodded with a shrug and a sigh. Beside her, Fitz practically vibrated. She hadn’t seen him so ecstatic since their first DWARF test flight. A small part of her found it endearing, but she brushed that aside in favor of resigned exasperation. “The monkey _did_ seem to follow us here, sir. We even took the long way around the back of the cave to see if we could lose him, and--”

“He stuck right by our sides,” interjected Fitz. “He’s right brilliant. I can tell already.” Coulson crouched down in front of the small capuchin monkey, brow furrowed. The monkey made a little sound and tilted his head, maintaining eye contact. “See? He’s not afraid of humans, clearly, and look at his little fingers! He’ll make an excellent lab monkey.”

Coulson stood, brushing off his suit pants. “You want to experiment on the monkey?”

Oh, no. Jemma held her hands out placatingly, but Fitz already looked aghast.

“How could-- I wouldn’t-- Why would anyone--” he sputtered, face flushed.

“Sir, what Fitz is trying to say is that he wants the monkey in question--” Fitz quickly nudged her with his elbow, and she tried to keep her eye roll in check before continuing. “ _Aristotle_. He would like for Aristotle to come aboard the Bus with us to act as Fitz’s… lab assistant.”

Fitz nodded fervently. “He wouldn’t be any trouble, and I’d take care of him, and I know what monkeys eat, and look at his _face_!”

Coulson grimaced. “Is there any good reason for me to say yes to this? Simmons?”

She eyed Fitz, then the monkey standing at his feet, looking up at them with wide eyes. She had her doubts-- Fitz had been hinting at a lab monkey for years, and she’d never thought it was a smart idea, not when they were sharing a lab at SciOps and certainly not now that they shared a mobile, flying lab. But-- she’d always had a weakness for Fitz’s big ideas. Somehow, making him happy always made her happy. So she blew out a quick puff of air and smiled up at Coulson. “Having an assistant on hand to take care of minor tasks _could_ feasibly improve our productivity by… I’d estimate 30%?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Fitz eagerly nod at Coulson. He was tapping the fingers of one hand arrhythmically against the side of his leg, the picture of nervous, excited energy. A moment passed, silent except for Fitz’s shallow breathing and a coo or two from Aristotle. Finally, Coulson turned to board the Bus without a word. She didn’t have to look at Fitz to know his face fell.

Then Coulson looked back at them over his shoulder. “Okay. You can keep him. On a trial basis.”

“Yes!” Fitz practically leapt in the air, grinning at Jemma, then held out a hand to the little creature. Aristotle reached out one tiny paw and gripped Fitz’s index finger. Jemma couldn’t tell if Fitz wanted to cry or laugh or faint or all of the above.

“No monkey business, though,” said Coulson as he boarded the Bus. “I mean it.” He turned to them, walking backwards. “No monkeying around.”

Jemma bit her tongue to keep her expression under control. Fitz was too preoccupied with nudging his new charge toward the ramp. “None whatsoever, sir,” she said, and Coulson disappeared through the door. She thought she heard him muttering about “comedy gold” as he retreated.

Then there were three. Fitz, Jemma, and a tiny little capuchin monkey named Aristotle. Who was currently peeing on the Bus’ ramp.

 _Oh_ , Jemma thought to herself. _This will end well._

 

 

**Monday**  
**3:30 p.m.**  
**The Bus**

“Look, he likes it!”

Fitz stood beside Jemma in his bunk, watching Aristotle sit down on a pile of blankets Fitz had balled up at the foot of his bed. The monkey picked up the corner of one of the blankets, a nice blue fleece, and stuck it in his mouth.

“Are you sure he doesn’t need a cage, Fitz?”

Once again, Fitz looked affronted. “I can’t _cage_ Aristotle. He’s not a common _pet_. He’s a _scientist_.”

“Oh, Fitz.”

“Look, look at how happy he is.”

She had to admit, the monkey did look content, sitting there sucking on the tail of his blanket. She had her doubts about this whole ordeal, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

The door to Fitz’s bunk slid all the way open to reveal Skye. “Hey! Monkey Trouble! I heard you made a new friend.” She crossed to Fitz’s bed and sat down beside the monkey. “Aww, is this the little guy?”

“No, Skye, that’s my uncle Larry,” Jemma said sardonically, crossing her arms. Honestly, the way everyone fawned over this monkey was not conducive to a lab free from distractions.

“She’s just jealous, isn’t she, Aristotle?” Fitz waggled his fingers in front of the monkey’s face, exchanging a joyous look with Skye when Aristotle gripped his hand again. “Now she won’t be the cutest thing in the lab.”

Jemma flushed at that, and thought she saw the tips of Fitz’s ears turning red, too, but she might have been imagining things. “That’s not-- I’m going to go to the actual lab for a bit. See if there’s anything that needs monkey-proofing.” She turned to leave, and just before she ducked out of the room, she heard Skye cooing to Aristotle.

“You hear that, little guy? She didn’t deny it.”

A scowl on her face, Jemma paused just outside the doorway to the bunk, smoothing her blouse and tucking her hair behind her ears. She shook her head resolutely.

She was definitely as cute as that monkey.

 

 

**Tuesday**  
**8:50 a.m.**  
**The Bus**

When Jemma entered the kitchen the next morning after a long run on the treadmill, Fitz was improbably already there-- sitting in a chair beside Aristotle, cutting up chunks of melon and honeydew and putting them in a bowl.

“Chef Fitz,” she said fondly, watching the pair of them. Fitz grinned up at her, popping a small piece of melon in his mouth.

“I can’t make much, but I can cut up fruit.”

“How was last night? Strange bedfellows and all that?”

She thought Fitz’s smile faltered, but couldn’t be sure. “It was great! Couldn’t have been better.” His eyes narrowed and his chin wobbled, and she realized he was trying his best to stifle a yawn. He didn’t quite succeed. When he blinked his eyes open, he looked at her plainly. “Okay, okay. He kept me up a bit. But can you blame him? It’s his first night in a new place.”

Jemma held up a hand. “I didn’t say a word.” She crossed to the cabinets to pour herself a bowl of cereal and began to make tea.

“So this is our newest recruit?” Ward entered the kitchen, arms crossed. “Well, he’s probably a bit more qualified than Skye was when we picked her up.

“Hey! Way to be supportive, SO,” Skye said, playfully hitting him on the shoulder as she entered behind him.

“Ward, Aristotle. Aristotle, Ward.” Fitz fed the monkey a bite of honeydew. “He’s a white-fronted capuchin--”

“We think,” Jemma interrupted, and Fitz shot her a look.

“We’re pretty sure. In any case, meet our new lab assistant. Today I’m going to train him to bring me tools.”

Fitz held another piece of fruit in front of the monkey’s face. “Aren’t I, little guy? Aren’t I?” Aristotle reached out with one paw and smacked the honeydew out of Fitz’s hand.

“Looks like someone doesn’t like to be called ‘little guy,’” said Skye, squeezing Fitz’s shoulder as she passed him on her way to the refrigerator.

Retrieving the fruit chunk from the floor where it had fallen, Fitz shot her a look. “We’re still… working out the kinks.”

“You’ll figure it out,” said Ward, taking a carton of milk from Skye’s hands. As he passed Fitz, he clapped him on the back. “Little guy.”

Jemma couldn’t help but chuckle-- the grumpy look that crossed Fitz’s face was a perfect match for the one on Aristotle’s.

 

 

**Wednesday**  
**10:12 a.m.**  
**The Bus**

“The soldering iron. No, Aristotle, the _soldering iron_.”

Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration as Jemma entered the lab. She watched him for a moment, amused. “Training not going so well today, is it?”

He looked up, eyes wide. “Jem. No, no, it’s fine! I think the iron’s too big for him, that’s all.”

“Maybe try a screwdriver first. Or just a screw. Look at those tiny little paws.” She wasn’t immune to Aristotle’s cuteness, after all. At the moment, the monkey was climbing the rungs of a stool, swinging himself up onto the seat as if he wanted to be more involved in the conversation. “Yes, I’m talking about you,” she said, laughing. She reached out a hand, index finger extended, and couldn’t help but smile when the monkey grasped it. It seemed to be his best trick.

When she looked up, Fitz wasn’t watching Aristotle-- he was watching her with a strange look on his face. “Thought you hated him.”

“I never said that.” She gently pulled her finger out of Aristotle’s grip, crossing to her lab station. “I think I just tend to look at him more like a--”

“Don’t say it.”

“--a specimen.”

“He is not a specimen!” Fitz’s voice became progressively higher and screechier with each word. “He is my _assistant_!”

Jemma picked up her goggles, pulling them down over her eyes with more force than necessary. “Oh, quite the skilled assistant, isn’t he?” Then, turning her attention to the monkey: “Aristotle. Bring me a washer.”

“He doesn’t… I mean, he can’t necessarily…”

But Aristotle seemed to understand, somehow. He quickly climbed up onto the lab bench and scampered across it, leaping up onto the shelf where a plastic bin of washers sat. Aristotle palmed as many as he could carry, then jumped back onto the bench, turning to face a smug Fitz and a disbelieving Jemma.

“Maybe you were--” Jemma began, as the monkey held his prizes aloft. And then promptly shoved them all into his mouth, swallowing them in one big gulp.

“Aristotle, no!” But it was too late. The monkey looked unapologetic. Fitz begrudgingly glanced over at Jemma. “What do we do?”

She shrugged, baffled. “I’m a biochemist, not a zoologist. I suppose we wait for him to… you know.” Fitz wrinkled his nose in distaste. She wasn’t surprised that he wouldn’t like that part of having a little monkey friend.

 

 

**Wednesday**  
**3:43 p.m.**  
**The Bus**

“Oh, you think that’s cute, do you?”

Jemma’s eyes were trained on her notepad as she jotted down some measurements. “Hmm… what’s cute?"

“Not talking to you, Jemma.”

Her brow furrowed. “Then who--” Turning around, she saw the culprit. Aristotle had latched onto Fitz’s tie from his perch on the lab bench, and was pulling Fitz forward. Jemma had to laugh a little. Fitz was bent at the waist, leaning over the table and glaring at the monkey. “Strong, is he?”

“He’s stronger than he looks!” He tried to reach his arms out to wrench his tie from the monkey’s grasp, but he was just out of reach. Fitz put his hands on his hips, glaring daggers at the creature. “Give that back right this instant, Aristotle.”

“Maybe he only takes commands when he’s hungry.”

“Very funny, Simmons. This tie is getting tight.” She did think his voice sounded a bit strangled. Just then, as if on cue, Aristotle yanked the tie with all his tiny might-- which was apparently considerable, given that Fitz made a choking sound, pitched forward over the bench and smacked his head into the shelf hanging above it.

“Fitz, are you okay?” Jemma dropped her notepad and pencil and rushed to separate the pair. It took a surprising amount of effort for her to remove the tie from Aristotle’s grasp, and once she did, he tried to bite her. Luckily, she escaped unharmed. Fitz stood with his hands on his knees, panting and undoing his tie entirely. Only after it was completely off and tossed in a heap on the table did he stand up straight, eyeing the monkey warily.

“Thanks, Jemma.”

It had only been two days, but she had held her tongue long enough. “Fitz, you have got to be _kidding_ me.”

“What?”

“Your monkey, this mangy mongrel monkey you _found_ in the _jungle,_ he just tried to _murder you_.” She felt furious-- and not just at Aristotle, who was now hiding under a folder like a tent, the picture of innocence.

“He did not--”

“Yes, Fitz, he really did.”

“Well. Not on purpose. He was just playing.”

“And he tried to off himself earlier by eating those washers. He could have choked and died, you know. It was bad enough you’ll have to go fishing through his feces.”

His eyes widened. “Oh no. Not now. Not worth it. Those washers are dead to me.”

“Never mind the washers. When are you going to realize that bringing a _wild animal_ into a _controlled scientific environment_ was a terrible idea?”

Jemma and Fitz were just a foot away from each other, fully facing one another and glaring. She knew she was right-- she knew it. It had been a poor idea helping Fitz convince Coulson that this was even allowed. That said, what on earth had Coulson been thinking, giving his permission? _Probably just wanted an excuse to make those horrid monkey jokes_.

“One more day, Jemma. One more day, and if it goes badly, then fine. You win.”

Her gaze softened. “It’s not me _winning_ , Fitz. Maybe… maybe he’s just not the _right_ monkey lab assistant.” Fitz sighed, and she tried to stifle a chuckle. “Maybe you need to read a few more CVs.”

“Not funny, Jem.” But he cracked a smile anyway.

“Right then. One more day?”

“You hear that, buddy? You get one more chance.” Fitz shot the monkey a look. “Better be good.”

Jemma looked down at the monkey, not sure if she wanted him to heed Fitz’s warning-- or to wreak havoc and leave them to an all-human lab.

She was leaning toward the latter.

 

 

**Thursday**  
**11:43 a.m.**  
**The Bus**

Unfortunately-- or possibly fortunately-- Jemma got her wish.

Fitz had spent the better part of the morning attempting to teach Aristotle to identify certain pieces of equipment. The monkey resolutely refused to do anything FItz said-- at times, Jemma thought, it seemed as if Aristotle purposefully flouted Fitz’s commands. Fitz would ask for a screwdriver and Aristotle would lob a handful of screws at him.

“At least he’s got the first part of the word,” Jemma said, and Fitz just glowered.

Now Jemma watched as a frustrated Fitz tried to get Aristotle to understand what gloves were.

“See? They go on your hand, like this.” He pulled one glove on, then off again. “Glove.” Aristotle reached out with both arms, grasping the glove and pulling it out of Fitz’s hands. Fitz grinned. “You get it, little guy?” His gaze flicked to Jemma, presumably making sure she was watching. “He gets it.”

“Mmhmm.”

Aristotle eyed the thick protective glove, turning it around in front of him. Then he quickly reached out and latched his teeth onto one finger of it, ripping a hole in the fabric.

“Hey!” Fitz wrenched the glove from the monkey’s jaws. “That was special-ordered!”

“I’m sure he knew that,” offered Simmons. “He probably has a catalogue of price information in his little monkey brain, and is systematically working his way through all our most expensive equipment.”

“No. He just-- just needs more--”

“Proper training by someone who actually knows how?”

Fitz scowled. He didn’t disagree, though. She turned her attention back to the project at her lab station, carefully mixing one chemical with another.

Silence fell over the lab as she focused on her experiment. She heard Fitz sigh not once, not twice, but three times. Without turning around, she knew he’d be pinching the bridge of his nose as he stared down Aristotle.

It wasn’t long before the silence began to concern Jemma. She pulled off her goggles, setting them down on her lab bench, and turned around just as she heard Fitz gasp.

“Aristotle, _no!_ ”

The monkey stood at the edge of the countertop, several feet away from Fitz’s lab station. Aristotle held a glass test tube in each hand, seemingly pulled down from the high cabinet above him, though Jemma wasn’t sure how he’d managed it. He held them up, a challenging look on his little monkey face.

“Put those down this instant!”

Instead, Aristotle tossed them casually to the ground, one after the other. They shattered as both Fitz and Jemma leapt back, instinctively shielding their faces with their arms. When Jemma looked up again, the monkey had jumped from the countertop onto a lab table.

“Fitz, get him!”

Aristotle pushed on a small scale that sat atop the table, shoving it all the way to the edge of the bench as Fitz made a move to grab him. In one smooth move, the monkey pushed the scale over the edge and jumped onto the next adjacent table, just out of Fitz’s reach.

“Come here, you bloody bastard!”

“Fitz!”

“I’m bloody trying, Jemma!” But every time Fitz came close, Aristotle somehow dodged him, sending another piece of lab equipment clattering to the floor.

“Here, I’ll come at him from this side, and you come at him from that side,” said Jemma, approaching the table on which Aristotle stood, ripping page after page out of a notebook. Fitz and Jemma slowly crept toward him, but just as they closed in on him, he jumped straight up in the air and out of their grasp. Somehow, he scrambled one table over, to Jemma’s lab bench.

“No, Aristotle! I haven’t recorded those results yet!”

“I don’t think he cares about the _science_ , Jemma.”

“Well, then he’s frankly unqualified to be a part of our lab!” She rushed to her table, hoping to preserve the work she’d been doing all morning. Fitz hurried to the other side, trying to close in on the monkey again.

Aristotle picked up one of the beakers that Jemma had been working with.

“No.”

He crept to the edge of the table closest to Fitz, seeming to look him right in the eye.

“Don’t.”

He gripped the beaker with both hands, maintaining eye contact as he held it out in front of him-- then threw it at Fitz with all his might. The liquid splashed all over his front before the beaker smashed on the floor.

“Fitz! Chemical shower!”

Fitz stood in place, sputtering with frustration and alarm for a moment, before diving for the chemical shower in the corner. He shucked his lab coat as he went, yanking his shirt unbuttoned-- he’d wisely skipped the tie-- and unbelting his pants as Jemma rushed to turn the shower on. She knew that they might be overreacting, but with the chemicals she’d been mixing, one could never be too safe.

After nearly tripping over his own shoes, Fitz’s finally got his pants off. He stood under the spray in only an undershirt and boxers.

“Did it seep through your trousers?” Jemma asked, wringing her hands together. “Do you need to take off your…”

He glared at her. “No, it didn’t. I can leave my pants on, thank you very much.” Begrudgingly, though, he reached for the hem of his white t-shirt. “It may have gotten on my shirt, though.” He pulled it off over his head.

As the spray washed away any trace of chemicals on Fitz’s skin, Jemma’s eyes were drawn to his lean, lightly-muscled arms and torso. She hadn’t seen him shirtless in some time, not now that they lived in close quarters with so many others. Even when they’d shared an apartment at SciOps, she’d rarely seen him without at least an undershirt. Had he begun working out? She could have sworn he’d been skinnier than this. Perhaps he’d taken to training with Ward and she just hadn’t noticed?

“Jemma?”

“Hmm?” She tore her distracted eyes away from his chest and met his gaze, a light blush on her face. “Think that’s long enough?”

“No, it’s-- where’s Aristotle?”

She spun around, surveying the lab. Not a monkey in sight. But the sliding lab door was open. She turned back to Fitz, who looked defeated under the spray of water, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Damn bloody monkey.”

 

  

**Thursday**  
**2:15 p.m.**  
**The Bus**

Jemma stepped out of the Bus hoping to escape the commotion-- and the pile of broken beakers-- that lay inside. She was thankful that they’d landed earlier that morning to restock supplies, meaning she could get some fresh air.

She certainly needed it.

She and a nearly nude, very wet Fitz had chased Aristotle all over the Bus, narrowly missing him in the kitchen, the common area and the briefing room. Each time that they’d thought they almost had him, he’d wrenched his way out of their grasp and escaped. Finally, Ward and May had found them at a stalemate with Aristotle outside Fitz’s bunk and the four of them had managed to close in on him successfully.

Fitz had wanted to find a way to keep him on the Bus at least until they could return him to his natural habitat, but one look at the chaos left in his wake and Ward had put his foot down. He and May had corralled the monkey into a S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV with promises of dropping him off at a local zoo. Fitz had walked outside with them to say goodbye, but Jemma had just wanted some peace and quiet.

So she sat cross-legged on the concrete of whatever airfield they’d landed at-- she’d lost track at this point-- propped up on her arms. It was the most tranquil she’d felt since Colombia.

Footsteps sounded behind her and she knew it was him. Fitz sat down next to her, sighing and pulling his knees to his chest. Neither said anything for a moment, before both spoke at once.

“I’m sorry, Jem--”

“You didn’t--”

Fitz cleared his throat and started over. “I’m sorry. You were right. I shouldn’t have brought a wild animal into our lab.”

Sitting up straight, she turned her head to look at him. She’d meant to glare, but she couldn’t once she took in his appearance. He’d hastily grabbed clothes from his bunk before walking out with May and Ward to say goodbye to Aristotle, and he wore a pair of pajama pants with monkeys and bananas printed on them, paired with a threadbare Academy t-shirt. She had to laugh. “Ironic clothing choice, Fitz.”

He stared down at his knees, brow furrowed. “Should burn the bloody things.”

Jemma softened, reaching out to rub his back comfortingly, studiously ignoring the part of her brain that flashed an image of Fitz shirtless as she did so. That was something she’d have to unpack later. “Don’t do that. I got you those.”

“I know. And now they’ll just remind me that--”

“--that it’s difficult to train a wild creature to do your bidding? Or to respect science the way we do?”

Fitz looked at her, hurt in his blue eyes. “I just wanted it so bloody badly. I don’t know if you know this, but I’ve actually wanted a monkey lab assistant for _years_.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Oh, really? I could hardly tell by the way you never stopped asking for one.”

He nodded, one side of his mouth quirking up into something resembling a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Well, you see where that got me.”

“Fitz, this isn’t your fault.” He raised an eyebrow. “Well, not entirely your fault. Sure, it wasn’t a good idea to pick up an untrained animal in a foreign country and bring him into a confined space at 30,000 feet.”

“When you put it _that_ way…”

“But this is how it happens sometimes. Sometimes you get the thing you want most in the world, and it’s not right. It doesn’t work out.”

Fitz shifted his gaze to the treeline a few hundred yards ahead of them. He grimaced. “Yeah. Guess not.”

“But you know what you do then?”

“What?”

“You figure out what you want next.” She hoped that he’d find something in her words that would make him feel better.

He pressed his lips together, looking at her out of the corner of his eyes. “Yeah?”

She grinned. “Yeah.” He nodded slowly, leaning back with his palms flat against the ground behind him. She thought she could see the hint of a smile on his face. She wondered what he wanted second-most in the world. Whatever it was, she really, really hoped that he’d get it.

Unless. She shot him a look. “Fitz. No sloths.”

He looked affronted. “What good would a _lab sloth_ be?”

“I’m serious, Fitz.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jemma.”

She relaxed a bit, leaning back to match him.

“The ring-tailed lemur is _incredibly_ smart.”

_Oh, bloody hell._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Want to chat on Tumblr? I'm unbreakablejemmasimmons over there!


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